In your face, Asher Cooper, with all your bullshit chubby talk.
“Nikolas?” I question.
“Ah, Chelcie. I was beginning to think you had stood me up.” He grabs my hand, mimicking the same play he put on just seconds before with the bartender.
It takes all of my willpower not to snatch my hand out of his and run to find the closest bathroom.
“Nope, just had a little trouble finding the place. So…Slice is interesting.”
“Yes. Very interesting,” he mumbles while his eyes never leave my chest.
What a tool.
“Would you like to go find a place to sit?” I ask, hoping that he might just tell me that he would rather spend time with the Playboy Bunny behind the bar.
“Of course. Forgive me. It’s been a long week and my head must not be on right.” He waves his hand in front of him, hinting for me to take the lead.
When I start off in the direction of an empty booth, his hand rests heavily against the small of my back. The first step I take, his hand leaves my back, caressing my ass before giving me a little tap. I yelp before spinning around and glaring at him.
He holds his hands up. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. I just couldn’t resist.”
“It would be best if you remember to keep your hands to yourself, Nikolas,” I snap.
He smirks and gives me a wink before grabbing my hand and taking off in the direction we were headed. I try unsuccessfully to pull my hand from his, but he keeps his firm hold on mine.
What a nightmare.
So far, I’ve been in date hell for about two hours, and within those two hours, I’ve actually talked to my date for about thirty minutes. The second we sat down, ordered some finger food—since that was the only thing offered—and some drinks—nonalcoholic for me and shot after shot for him—he disappeared. I would have left, but the greasy food was so good that I couldn’t stop eating.
And then I ordered some more, along with another water with lemon, and by the time I realized that I had been people-watching and living in my own head, another hour had passed. It isn’t abnormal for me to space out when I’m in the middle of a crowded place. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer. It doesn’t matter where I am. I sit and story after story just filter through my head. Clearly I have been living in my own personal bubble, because while I was writing a new story in my head, my date vanished.
Well, isn’t this lovely.
I flag down one of the scantily clad waitresses and pay the bill—the whole bill—before grabbing my purse and heading off to the bathroom before I leave.
The hallway leading to the bathroom is oddly quiet. The lighting is just as bad as the rest of this place, dark and smoky. Once I make it up to the door marked Chicks, I give it a good shove before realizing that it’s locked. I would leave, but since I was sitting there living in my head, I downed seven waters, and right now, baby bean is making it very clear that space is limited and my bladder looks like a nice pillow.
Knocking on the door, I yell, “Excuse me? Is anyone in there?”
“Yeah, bitch. Hold the hell on!” comes the muffled reply followed by a crash and some giggles that quickly turn into one of the longest moans.
While I’m sitting here about to pee on myself, cobwebs having collected around my neglected pussy, some chick is getting her rocks off. Life is not fair. I laugh at the thought of my lacking sex life. It’s not for lack of want—Lord knows the pregnancy hormones have me turning into some sex-craving whore—but there is only one man my body craves, and regardless of what I tell myself, that will never happen.
“Come on! Pinch her tit and roll your hips, dude! Showtime is over!” I yell, slamming my fist against the wooden door.
I hear some more grunts, moans, and muted curses before silence takes over. I’m just about to say the hell with it and brave the men’s room when I hear the lock disengage and the door swings open. Honey McSexpot from the bar struts out first, fluffing her hair and hooking her uniform top back into place. Her makeup is all over her face and her hair looks like she stuck her head under the hand dryer in the bathroom.
I laugh. Yeah, that’s right, I literally laugh in her face at the picture before me. “Honey, you might want to check your face before you go back to work.”
“Whatever, bitch. You might want to check your date.” She shoots back before walking back down the hall.
I don’t even think about what the heck she just said. I’m more focused on the toilet paper sticking out of the crotch on her shorts. What a whore.
I’m still laughing to myself when I turn back to the bathroom and collide with a firm chest. “Whoa there, pretty thing. If you want some of Nik the Dick, all you have to do is ask. Didn’t think you were the type, but I’m more than ready for round two!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing even harder at the hilarity of the situation. Nik the Dick? What a mess this whole night has turned out to be.
“Nikolas. I would say it’s been a pleasure, but being the minuteman that you seem to be, that would be a lie. I should thank you for showing me just what I’ve been lucky enough to miss out on here.” I take a second to look at him, really look at him, and this time, I can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. “You do realize that you have a tampon stuck to your face, right?” As disgusting as it is, I can’t stop laughing.
By far, this is the worst date I have ever been on. Knowing that my date was busy fucking the bartender should sting. I clearly don’t have the wow factor anymore, and that is perfectly fine with me—especially since the prick I was supposed to be here with now has a very used tampon stuck to his face.
He looks confused for a second before spinning on his heels and running back into the bathroom. I can hear his girlish yelp seconds before I hear him losing his stomach.
And I just turn, walk to the men’s room, relieve myself, and then head the hell home. I don’t stop laughing until I’m waving at Joe and safely behind my apartment door. Only then do I realize just how lonely I really am and my giggles turn into sobs.
Chapter 5 – Asher
“Come on, faggot. You’re nothing but a piece of white trash!”
“Such a crybaby, trailer trash!”
“Where is your big, bad brother now, little boy?”
“Expecting a flood soon? Huh? Can’t even get clothes that are clean?”
“How bad do you want this apple? Want it bad enough that you’ll kiss my feet, gay boy?”